


You're a Terrible Cook

by Jude81



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, cooking misadventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: To fulfill the prompt "You're a terrible cook."





	You're a Terrible Cook

“You’re a terrible cook.” 

Raven glanced up from her journal, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out between her lips just enough to be teasing, but Anya was sure she didn’t know she was doing it. 

“Sorry? What?” 

Anya rolled her eyes to hide her smile as she set the tin plate down on the ground next to her. She really should have insisted that she cook the rabbit she had caught and then skinned and cleaned. She really wasn’t sure how Raven had managed to burn the rabbit on the outside, and yet the rabbit still be raw under the thick crust of ash. Her stomach growled, and she winced. Yes, she really should have insisted on cooking. 

But Raven had insisted, wanting to prove that she was learning how to take care of herself in this new world, that she could also take care of Anya in her own chaotic, haphazard way. Anya knew that Raven was more than a little self-conscious about her leg, always pushing herself to prove that she could keep up, that she could contribute to a society that prided itself on strength and resiliency. 

She shook her head and waved at Raven’s untouched plate. “Were you going to eat?” 

Raven frowned again, before dropping her gaze back to the journal that she had been scribbling in. She was close. She could feel the answer hanging just out of reach, mocking her, goading her into getting up during the night and lighting the candles to spend hours hunched over her formulas and figures, only to eventually fall asleep head pillowed on her arm, ink stained fingers clutching a tattered quill that she was always in need of sharpening again each morning. 

She shrugged her shoulders and sighed before carefully closing the journal, wrapping a long rawhide string around it to keep it closed. She slipped it into her oilskin pack that Anya had made for her and slipped the quill between the ties before capping the small bottle of ink. 

She reached for her plate, pulling it into her lap. She picked up the handful of nuts and berries and ate them, not really tasting them, her mind running too fast for her to keep up. 

“I’m just so close,” she muttered as she looked at Anya squatting across the small fire. 

“I know. It will come.” Anya poked the fire with a stick, stirring the coals before setting it aside and picking up a branch and pushing the end into the fire. She averted her eyes not wanting her vision to become entranced by the light of the fire. Doing so would leave her partially blind to the gathering darkness around them, and despite the peace between Trikru and the Blue Cliff Clan, it was never wise to deliberately hinder one of your senses. 

“When will we get there?” 

Anya hummed and stood up walking over to her pack that lay a few feet away where they had already laid out their blankets. She rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a small jar and an apple. 

“If we make good time, we should be there by the time the bottom of the sun is touching the blue cliffs.”

Raven nodded and picked up her piece of rabbit, eyeing it with a little trepidation. She had managed to burn the outside entirely, and she really probably should have let Anya cook. But Anya was always doing everything for her. She hunted and trapped, trading her skins and furs for ink and medicine for her leg. And sometimes she managed to trade for the minty like candies that Raven loved. They were hard to come by, since the Ice Nation was the one who made them, and they didn’t always like to come to Polis and trade regularly unless it was festival time. 

She took a bite, or at least tried too, but ash filled her mouth, and the flesh didn’t give way under her strong teeth. Oh God. She dropped the rabbit back on her plate, spitting the ash out onto the ground. She looked at the rabbit, her stomach rolling in rebellion. 

“Fuck. It’s raw.”

“Yep.” 

She would have snorted at the word, at the way Anya said it so matter of factly as if she were pointing out that yes, her name was indeed Anya. It was a new word added to her vocabulary by none other than Octavia. It was certainly better than the last word Octavia had taught Anya, and she would never forget the look on Kane’s face when Anya had proudly called him a twat, during the annual Giving Ceremony. 

She gingerly moved her plate off her lap, sighing and resting her elbows on her knees, guilt and hunger warring for supremacy in her gut. It took a moment to realize that Anya was squatting in front of her, holding out an apple. She took it gratefully. 

“Wait. What about you?” 

Anya shook her head, her eyebrows drawn tight over her dark eyes. “Eat it.”

Raven knew better than to argue and nodded, biting into the tart flesh, her mouthwatering as the juice slipped down her tongue. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, tilting her head a little, watching Anya situate herself on the ground in front of her. She smiled in relief when she saw the small jar in her hands. She had refused to complain but the long hours riding the horse had taken a toll on her muscles, especially her leg.

Anya reached up, her long fingers finding the button on Raven’s pants. She made quick work of undoing it, jerking her head for Raven to lift her hips, and once the girl had done so, Anya drew the pants down her leg.

She scooped up a small handful of the ointment in the jar. It smelled strongly of mint and fat, and something else that Anya had refused to identify for her.  She didn’t push it. If Anya didn’t want to tell her, then she was probably better off not knowing. 

It took only a minute for the first low moan to slip past Raven’s lips as Anya’s strong fingers needed the tired and tight muscles of her withered leg. She bit her lips looking down at the crown of Anya’s head, as the older woman bent over her leg, digging her fingers into the muscles. 

She couldn’t resist and reached out and touched the top of Anya’s head, her fingers slipping through her hair and along her braids. She’d long ago memorized each braid, the shape and texture, the length, the little pieces of ribbon and rawhide that tied the larger braids. 

She finished her apple, tossing the core into the fire. She could feel the exhaustion clinging to her muscles, weighing her down. Anya had stopped kneading her leg, had capped the jar and was looking up at her now. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as she bent down, her lips easily finding Anya’s. It was both familiar and exciting at the same time. She would never tire of feeling Anya’s mouth against her own, the strong press of her body against her own. 

“I’m sorry about dinner,” she admitted in defeat. 

Anya laughed and shook her head, reaching up and pulling Raven into her lap so the younger girl could straddle her. Her hands found the small of Raven’s back, her fingers digging into the tight muscles there, while Raven looped her arms around her shoulders, kissing along her cheeks and chin. 

Anya groaned a little, feeling the excitement start to burn in her belly, and she wished they were back in their hut, in the bed that she had built for them, so she could explore and worship Raven in all the ways that was simply not prudent to do so, so far from home. 

“I will do better next time,” Raven muttered as she pressed her mouth to the hollow of Anya’s throat, licking at the dip, memorizing the taste of the salt on her skin. 

Anya pulled back and slipped her hand under Raven’s chin, raising her face to look at her. “No. No more cooking.” 

“But I can do it!” She ignored both the fact that she clearly couldn’t do it and th whine in her voice, pouting at the amused look on Anya’s face. 

“Repeat after me.” 

“Anya!”

“Repeat after me,” Anya wrapped her thumb and forefinger around Raven’s chin, shaking it enough to get her to comply. She chuckled as Raven rolled her eyes huffing in exaggeration. 

“Fine!” 

“Now repeat it after me. “You’re a terrible cook.” 

“You’re a terrible cook, Anya.” 

Anya growled at her cheekiness, leaning down and nipping at her bottom lip, scraping her teeth across her lips as Raven pushed into her. 

“Do it right,” she breathed against Raven’s lips before pulling back, one eyebrow raised in expectation. 

Raven huffed and rolled her eyes again. “Fine. I’m a terrible cook. There are you happy?” She pressed into Anya, deliberately dropping her weight into Anya’s lap, pressing her bottom firmly into Anya’s pelvis. 

Anya swallowed hard, her mind slightly hazy at the feel of Raven’s underwear clad bottom in her palms. She nodded and licked her lips. 

“Good,” she whispered, her breath harsh on her tongue as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “And I will let my warrior cook. Say it.” She squeezed Raven’s bottom, enjoying the feel of the firm muscles giving a little in her palms. 

Raven stilled her slight rocking in Anya’s lap, pulling back enough to stare into Anya’s eyes, almost getting lost in the black and gold. She had the eyes of a predator, but Raven had never felt safer than when she was in Anya’s arms. 

“My warrior?” She barely breathed out the words. Sure she mostly lived with Anya, and it was clear that Anya loved her and she Anya, but marriage was not a concept that the Trikru practiced, nor was ownership of anyone’s body. To so blatantly lay claim was tantamount to…well, she didn’t know what really. 

“Sha. Your warrior.” Anya wrapped her arms around Raven, pulling her firmly into her body, pressing her cheek against Raven’s. “Your warrior, Raven kom Trikru y Skaikru. Always and forever until my last breath leaves my body, and then I will wait another eternity for you to join me or I you.” 

Raven gulped, tears pricking her eyes, salt finally spilling down her cheeks, as she grabbed hold of Anya squeezing her harder than was probably comfortable. 

“I love you, Anya. Always. Even after I take my last breath.” She pressed her mouth to Anya’s drinking in the sweet taste of her, letting it sit on her tongue. 

“You’re still a terrible cook.” 

 


End file.
